


The Reins Between Our Necks

by orphan_account



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of killing Billy Fleeter, Dexter and Miguel are drawn together</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reins Between Our Necks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessicamiriamdrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/gifts).



Blood was still dripping out from the saran wrap, creating a thick sticky puddle. It set my teeth on edge, made that familiar rush under my skin. I looked up and met Miguel's eyes, black and dark, saw his Dark Passenger staring back out at me and there was a drag of kinship, a leash between our necks that was slowly tightened. I could feel those inky black wings spread inside my chest, saw his darkness posturing to mine, and knew that this was it. That thing, _friendship_ , was twisted and frayed. I didn't know what it meant, but I didn't care. Perhaps the great Harry might have some kind of word to put forward when I was alone again and safe to listen to the crooning of my demented mind but for now the voices were silent, except for the inky chuckle in the back of my head.

Miguel's hands were shaking and I recognized it, wasn't sure what to do. Areas of emotion were well beyond me, and while in this Kill Room, within the confines of my dark and lonely kingdom I should have known all but I didn't. It was new territory, an unlocked tower spiraling up and up to an unlit room, and Devious Dark Dexter did not hold the keys to that door.

He was free in a way, but perhaps not completely. I remembered what it was, crawling along my skin, the first true _feeling_ to pound in my chest, the rising crescendo of the satisfied moon.

I held his hands, the leather creaked as our fingers twisted tight.

"Dexter," he said, voice hoarse, and the leather constricted further, drew us together. I wasn't sure of any conscious decision, but we were falling together onto the plastic ground.

The plastic bags crinkled and shifted underneath of my back and Miguel rubbed against me. Even though the kill hadn't been mine I could feel it in my chest beating against my ribs. I could remember the way Miguel guided the knife through to his heart, and I found myself kissing him with no clear idea why. I had never done this before, the situation had no precedent. It was always Dexter Desolate, Dexter Detached even with lovely Rita, but I couldn't stop it as the kill rush leapt from him to me.

I turned him and pressed him into the hard ground and our eyes met for a moment before I sunk my teeth into his neck. The Harry Code says leave no trace, to not linger over a freshly dispatched body but there was no stopping this.

I pulled the zipper to his jacket down, pushed the tight fabric off of his chest. His hands were untying the string to my apron, and it was sliding off of me, shoved aside. I'd need it again, later, for when I had dirtier longer work to do but I let him take it off of me, let him push his bare hands, still powdery from the latex of the surgical gloves, against my stomach, drag down over to my belt. There was a delirious moment of kissing as I raised my hips and he jerked my fly open, pushed my pants down over my hips.

I returned the favour as fast as I could, my hands, normally surgeon steady, were shaking as I helped shift his pants down and we were pressed together, rolling hips and desperate hard kisses that ended with bites and desperate, almost growling sounds. 

He wet his hand and touched us both, and I felt the leather of our collars constrict further as his hand moved rhythmically with our thrusts, and I could see the dropping of the blade for Fleeter's ribcage, see the way he shook and quavered as his shadow took its first wobbly step into a brand new world.

_"Madre de Dios,_ Dexter," he whispered, and our foreheads pressed together. I felt my toes curling and my eyes roll up as I let out a long, shaking moan.

He came first with a long, muttered groan, and my Cubano wasn't good enough to translate. He sunk his teeth just so into my shoulder, dragging the fabric up, sending a dull rake of pain through me, and he twisted his wrist, slick with spit and his come and I moaned again, letting go. My orgasm seemed to draw up from some lower pit, fed by the rush and the urge and the darkness that bound us.

I met his gaze and his eyes glittered again, the colour of a deep well, and the leash between us tightened just a little more.

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't much Spanish in here, but 'Madre de Dios' means 'Mother of God,' and if the phrase 'my Cubano wasn't good enough to translate' is an incorrect way to phrase that sentance (ie, the word Cubano is wrong and should be replaced with something else) please let me know.


End file.
